Sticky Situationship (It’s Complicated)

2. Brock

Brock

T he sharp intake of breath from my gorgeous smoke show of a neighbor is audible and, thankfully, clear of phlegm. Her lungs seem to be recovering nicely from the mild case of smoke inhalation, but I’m too distracted by what’s lying on her nightstand to focus on her respiratory health.

Instead, it’s another body system I’m considering. Her reproductive system.

A facedown romance novel rests next to a bedside lamp, highlighted by its soft glow. The worn paperback spine is creased in at least a half dozen places, and the book was set down open to a page as if she stopped reading in the wee hours of the morning and didn’t have a bookmark to note the page.

The scantily clad couple embracing on the cover leaves little to the imagination, but it’s the hot pink silicone battery operated boyfriend on the nightstand next to the novel that stops me in my tracks. It’s thick and true to human form—if said human was a well-endowed giant who also sported an extra nub on the base of his dick perfectly positioned to maximize his partner’s pleasure.

How is it possible a beautiful woman as obviously intelligent as the one sitting only inches away from me, with curves like hers and full pink lips that beg to be kissed, doesn’t have a boyfriend? Or at least, not one who’s delivering what she needs.

Ever since I moved in next door and spotted my sexy neighbor with a head of unruly curls in the lobby, I’ve wondered if the knockout brunette was single. So far, there’d been no sound of nocturnal activity through the paper-thin walls that separate our apartments. Now, I know why.

And I also can’t help but wonder what her soft gasps, low moans, and sighs of pleasure would sound like when my face is buried between her thighs. Whether I could make her come so hard she’d scream loud enough for Mrs. Peters, the elderly woman in 4D, who made me repeat myself three times when I helped carry in a load of groceries yesterday, would hear.

“I’ll… I’ll just take that,” the woman across from me stammers, her face fire-engine red as she snatches the empty glass from my fingers and springs to her feet.

“If you ever need to relieve some stress,” I offer, with a lift of my shoulder, “I’d love to—”

“I’m good,” she snaps, cutting me off almost instantly. “I mean, er…um…” She squirms, and her eyes flit back to the nightstand.

I can’t tell if it’s the direction of her thoughts or the freezing midnight breeze fluttering the curtains that pebbles her nipples, drawing my gaze as they poke against her light pink sports bra. Not that it matters. My cock responds automatically, and I’d love nothing more than to suck the tips into my mouth and nibble gently while her fingernails rake my scalp.

But first things first. I rise, and thanks to the fact we both live in less than five hundred and fifty square feet, I’m close enough to make out the delicate green ring of her irises, a vibrant hue that reminds me of fresh grass in Central Park in the spring. “I was going to say I’d love to take you to dinner. Or a drink, or a coffee, if you’d rather.” Doctors like coffee, right? Maybe she'll say yes to that.

“Oh.” Her mouth forms a perfect circle, those lush lips holding open for barely an instant before her expression transforms and she presses them firmly together. “Thanks, but no. I’m super busy with work and studying for my boards. Really, I’m much too busy for a boyfriend right now." She spins and slams the window closed with enough force that the glass rattles in its frame.

“Not that you’re offering to be my boyfriend, of course,” she continues, with a stilted laugh. “I mean, that’s crazy, right? After all, we just met, and you just rescued me from the smoke and the alarm and from the whole burning the entire building down thing and—”

I lay a hand on her arm, and she stills, peering up at me with wide emerald eyes that reveal her innermost thoughts. She’s tempted, that much is clear, but she’s also determined to talk herself out of anything that won’t help her achieve her goals.

I’d love to get her out of her head, distract her enough for her mind to stop going a million miles a minute, and give her a chance to relax, to have nothing to think about or worry about other than reaching the orgasm I’m determined to deliver.

Also, for some odd reason I can’t quite put a finger on, the way she’s so quickly dismissing the thought of me being her boyfriend leaves a foul taste in my mouth. The unfamiliar bitter tang at the back of my throat catches me by surprise, considering each of my ex’s would swear on a bible in front of a judge that my lack of commitment was the reason they moved on.

“I’m glad to be of service,” I assure her, tucking a wayward curl that’s come free of her messy bun back behind her ear. “And no pressure. You know where to find me. My door’s always open. Anytime. For anything.”

“Anytime,” she breathes, the word almost inaudible. “For anything.”

She swallows, the smooth expanse of flawless skin down her throat working. My fingers twitch to slowly trace the line of her collarbone up to her shoulder, but I squeeze them into fists at my side instead.

What is going on? I’ve never been so taken by a woman I barely know. Never felt the pull, as I do now, to tug this mussed-up, sexy as hell woman close and kiss her senseless. Especially, one who has the initials M.D. after her name. And believe me, my meddling mother has invited more than a few to our Sunday family dinners over the past few years.

“No strings. No commitment. No obligation. Just two friendly neighbors…” I say, pausing as my gaze lingers on those lips that are sure to haunt my dreams tonight. “Helping each other work off a little stress.”

Her jaw drops, and her breath quickens. Another sign she’s fully recovered. From the smoke inhalation anyway. The reproductive system, though? That’s another story.

I turn to go.

“Next time, be sure to set a timer when you’re baking,” I call over my shoulder, half hoping she doesn’t, so I have reason to see her, to talk to this stunning beauty again.

“Wait,” she calls when I’m almost to the door.

I freeze, my heart pounding at the sound of the single word.

“I don’t even know your name.”